CHAPTER 22 (of 84) of the Serialization of SNOOZE: A STORY OF AWAKENING—Read or Listen to This Award-winning Metaphysical Novel FREE Online

Posted by
Could it be there’s no such thing as the paranormal … only infinite varieties of normal we’ve yet to understand?

[url=]Read Reviews[/url]

This is an important and timely question explored in the highly acclaimed spiritual novel, SNOOZE: A STORY OF AWAKENING, winner of the 2015 National Indie Excellence Award for New Age Fiction.
Written with young adult and young-at-heart readers in mind, SNOOZE further proved its literary merit by being selected as a 2016 Readers’ Favorite International Book Award Finalist in the Young Adult-Coming of Age category and receiving an Honorable Mention in the 2014 Beach Book Festival Prize competition in the General Fiction category.

Now for the first time ever, this epic visionary tale is being officially serialized—in both readable and audible formats.

You’re invited to join—either with eyes or ears—Max Diver, a.k.a. “Snooze,” along the razor’s edge of a quest to rescue his astronaut father from a fate stranger than death in the exotic, perilous Otherworld of sleep.

This inspiring tale interweaves a plethora of paranormal and metaphysical subjects, from Bigfoot and enlightenment to the Loch Ness Monster and time travel via the Bermuda Triangle.

In her review of SNOOZE published in INDIE SHAMAN Magazine, June Kent had this to say about what she described as “superlative fiction”: “Engrossing, entertaining and occasionally humorous, SNOOZE also takes a look at a wide range of subjects including levitation, telepathy, lucid dreaming, spirit animals, parallel universes and shamanic-like journeying, giving a wide range of information effortlessly absorbed as you enjoy the story as well as much food for thought.”

If you’d like your own downloadable review copy to share your thoughts via Amazon, Goodreads and elsewhere, read details and contact the author with your request.

Naturally, your generous review would be greatly appreciated even if you simply enjoy the full text now being presented on this blog and numerous podcast platforms. Keep in mind that paperback and ebook versions are for sale. A complimentary online version is also available for your reading pleasure.

IMPORTANT: Be sure to follow Snooze 2 Awaken and/or Sol Luckman Uncensored for alerts as new chapters of the 84 in total that make up Max’s extraordinary story become available.

Sweet dreams!


By Sol Luckman


The most difficult part of Max’s transition to college life wasn’t freshman orientation, finding his way around campus, fending for himself, adjusting to the workload, or even the occasional hazing by upperclassmen. No, the most challenging thing, by far, was Raul.

As an only child, having any kind of roommate would have presented problems for Max. The fact he was required to share his quarters with another human being—any human being—necessitated, in itself, significant evolutionary adaptation.

If Max had been given a say in the matter, he would have at least requested a quiet, respectful, studious roommate, one who also valued personal privacy, property, and space. But since roommates were assigned to freshmen randomly, he didn’t have any say—and was pretty much stuck with Raul for the year.

By his own admission, Raul Eduardo Carlos dos Santos was a “mutt.” The son of a wealthy Brazilian executive and a wealthier British socialite, Raul had split his childhood between cultures and continents while being raised by nannies and educated by private tutors, until he was packed away to boarding school in New England at the ripe old age of twelve.

“I would have preferred Rio,” he explained to Max the first evening they spent as roommates. “I feel I belong in Rio—if I belong anywhere. But both my parents insisted Brazil was nowhere to get an education. Except in all the wrong things,” he added, wistfully reclining on his bed, hands behind his head, recalling some illicit or immoral memory.

“So you speak fluent Spanish?” asked Max, unpacking his suitcases and arranging his clothes in his chest of drawers.


“But you said you’re from Brazil. Sort of.”

Hello? Brazilians speak Portuguese, Max.”


“It’s a common mistake. Spanish—how shall I say this?—is like Portuguese spoken with a speech impediment.”

“Say something in Portuguese.”

“‘Ela Não Gosta de Mim.’”

“What does that mean?”

“She doesn’t like me.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Nobody. It’s the name of an old song.”

“Look, Raul, if you’re talking about meeting Tuesday this afternoon—”

“I didn’t mean to offend her, Max! Good God, how was I supposed to know she was a bloody feminist? Didn’t you think my joke was funny?”

“You mean the one about the ideal woman turning into a pepperoni calzone at the stroke of midnight?”

“Spot on. I thought it was screaming. Didn’t you, Pablo?”

The blue teddy, sewn together in various places and seated at the corner of Raul’s bed, remained noncommittal.

“I think it’s safe to say, Raul, that at this university any joke about women that can be misinterpreted, will be.”

“Oh, you’re probably right. What about you? How do you offend women?”

“I … don’t … usually.”

“That’s good. That’s proper of you. I think, in my case, it must have something to do with my upbringing. I only saw my parents over major holidays. I don’t really even know who they are. They’re just … names to me.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Do you?”

“Sort of. I never technically knew my mother. And my father was very … complicated.”

“I know all about your father, the famous astronaut who mysteriously vanished at sea.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I googled him.”

“Well, I guess that settles that.”

“Hardly. I didn’t mean to cut you off, Max. I’m actually frightfully sorry for your losses. A tough bit of luck, that.”

“They were both a long time ago. I’ve … moved on.”

“Jolly good for you! I’d think that would be the type of thing to linger. But it would make a top-notch screenplay, you have to admit.”

Having finished arranging the drawers, Max was in the process of hanging up the items from his suit bag in his closet.

“Need any help there, old chap?” inquired Raul, who was still stretched out on his bed and looked to be in no hurry to get up.

“No, thanks.”

Suit yourself, ha, ha.”

“Aren’t you going to unpack?” asked Max with a glance at Raul’s pyramid of suitcases taking up a good chunk of the room at the foot of his bed.

“Yes. Eventually. I plan to unpack slowly and carefully over the coming weeks. My bags aren’t in your way, are they?”

“Not at all.”

“I thought they were stacked quite artistically.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“You’re a bit of a neat freak, aren’t you, Max?”

“Me? I don’t know about ‘neat freak.’ I guess I do like things to be in their proper place.”

“I had a roommate very much like you in tenth grade. Little Arthur Pennington. Lots of sinus problems. He went slightly bonkers and eventually was asked to leave the school.”

“Raul, have you been drinking?”

“Yes. But only alcohol. Would you like me to make you a caipirinha?”

“What’s that?”

“A fine Brazilian beverage. Cachaça, which is sugarcane alcohol, processed sugar and lime over ice.”

“Thanks. But I don’t drink.”

“If you don’t drink, Max, you’ll die. It’s a biological fact.”

“I mean alcohol.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?”

“How did you get your hands on alcohol, Raul? Aren’t you, like, eighteen?”

“I’m nineteen, thank you very much. Just barely. But Max, I can assure you age is merely a state of mind.”

“Fake ID?”

“Fake IDs.”

“So what are you planning to major in, Raul? Counterfeiting?”

“Very amusing. I haven’t the slightest notion. Possibly art history. Or perhaps computer hacking. You?”

“I’m on a pre-med track.”

“Dr. Diver, eh?”

“One of these days.”

“You know, I have a nasty rash I’d love for you to examine.”

“I recommend abstinence.”

“Max, despite yourself, you really are a funny bloke. But seriously, it’s right here behind my elbow.” Raul held up his elbow, twisted slightly for Max to see, to the light. Sure enough, there was a pinkish rash extending about halfway to the shoulder.

“I’m not a doctor—yet,” said Max. “But it looks like a mild case of eczema. You could google it.”

“Capital idea. Are those your parents?” Raul pointed to the picture, newly placed on Max’s desk, of his father and mother in front of the Tempus Fugit that used to sit on the mantelpiece in his home on Tupelo Street.

“Yeah, they were.”

“Handsome couple. You look exactly like her. Well, not exactly. You’re not quite as pretty.”

Copyright © Sol Luckman. All Rights Reserved.

Introducing Sol Luckman’s new visionary novel, CALI THE DESTROYER. Learn about the single most censored story in the history of the human race—and why it matters today.


Alter Ego

Sol Luckman is a pioneering ink and acrylic painter whose work has been featured on mainstream book covers, the fast-paced trading game BAZAAR, and at least one tattoo on a female leg last sighted in Australia.

Sol is also an acclaimed author of fiction, nonfiction, and humor. His books include the international bestselling CONSCIOUS HEALING, which you can read free online, and its popular sequel, POTENTIATE YOUR DNA, available in English and Spanish.

Building on SNOOZE’s deep dive into lucid dreaming, parallel universes and Hindu mysticism, Sol’s new novel, CALI THE DESTROYER, is a page-turner of a sci-fi tale set in an Orwellian future seeded in the dystopian present that radically rewrites Gnosticism as well as the origins of the earth and humanity.

Sol’s popular book of humor and satire, THE ANGEL’S DICTIONARY: A SPIRITED GLOSSARY FOR THE LITTLE DEVIL IN YOU, received the 2017 National Indie Excellence Award for Humor and was selected as a Finalist in the Humor category of both the 2018 International Book Awards and the 2018 Best Book Awards.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.